Specter Looms
I died the other day,
fore am but a wraith,
manipulated by creatures,
leeches of the realm moribund.
Scars etch my face from lobotomies,
artistry crafted with a silver brush,
scalpel carves sanguinary in hush,
by a blind man, a white coat.
Smoke, Lilithian billowing tendrils,
swirl my essence, telekinesis,
baleful aura emanates the dirge,
mirth to match their futile folly.
Pluck the harp, smack the drum,
turn the skeletal key,
jiggle the loose lock,
yclept maestra death incarnate.
Destiny..
Copyright © Beatrix Macabre | Year Posted 2024
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